Page 77 of Pretty Little Trigger
EPILOGUE
Hunter
I don’t know what I did to deserve this kind of happiness.
Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
I’ve done bad things.
Terrible things.
It’s been two years since we set fire to our past and chose to walk through the flames together.
Not a spark rekindled.
A fucking wildfire reignited.
Alana never told anyone the truth about what I do in the shadows, or what I did to her.
She just told her family and friends I owned the firm and used an alias when working undercover as her bodyguard.
Some sins are ours alone to carry.
Maybe that’s love what love is.
Not the confession, but the silence that protects you.
We live on my family estate now—twenty acres of green that rolls like something out of a dream.
The house is massive.
Regal. The kind of place that used to make me feel like a fraud.
Now? It feels like home.
Because she is in it.
There’s a tree-lined drive that blooms wild with jacarandas in spring.
A garden that always smells like fresh rosemary and wet stone.
There’s something alive here.
Something that blooms for her.
That bends around her.
I built her a studio in the garden with floor-to-ceiling windows, whitewashed wood, wide open air.
She says it’s where her soul breathes.
Jenyx comes often. The two of them together?
Chaos and genius in equal measure.
And Tessa? She’s the boss of all of it.
She doesn’t run the brand anymore—she is the brand.
She takes Alana’s chaos and wraps it in magic and launches it into the world.
Salem lives for the estate.
He sunbathes on the marble floors like royalty.
Hunts mice in the lavender.
Sleeps curled on my pillow when Alana steals the rest of the bed.
As for me? I’m trying to stay on the legal side of the business now.
Contracts. Surveillance.
Corporate protection.
The clean stuff.
But every now and then I still wear the villain’s smile.
Still make a few problems disappear behind the scenes.
I keep it quiet. Neat.
No blood on the floor.
Just shadows where monsters used to be.
In front of me stands an angel.
My angel . Alana. I bend down, take her hand and kiss her ring.
I gave my Little Diamond a diamond—one that wasn’t little at all.
Her dad helped. He’s been saving it for years.
An eight-carat canary diamond, pulled from his mine.
Said he always knew it would be hers one day.
His gift. His legacy.
He refused to let me pay.
I wired him a couple million anyway.
I didn’t give Alana a ring.
Just the stone. Raw.
Radiant. Powerful. Like her.
She designed the rest herself, of course.
I turn her palm over and let my teeth scrape lightly over the bow and arrow tattoo.
The one she got for Hunter.
For me.
She squirms. “Keep still, Little Diamond.”
“Or what?” she challenges, a smirk curling on her lips, defiance ringing in her stormy gaze.
“Consequences.” She twists out of my grip and makes a run for it.
She’s barefoot, sun-kissed, glowing.
Laughter spilling behind her like sparks.
Her hair’s longer. Her eyes, softer.
But she’s still my Little Diamond. My fucking wife.